Robert Greer, Esquire

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Monday April 26, 2004 Volume VI Number 17

Robert Greer, Esquire

(1950-2004)

by Ken Kemp

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orget the name of the magazine - Esquire. They stole the word.

There was a time when men aspired to be gentlemen (sadly, that word, in modern parlance, has been stolen, too). In those bygone days, such a man pursued the attributes of civility: a manner of style, of dress, of speech, of deportment. Care was given to diction, and polite conversation. Phrases were carefully honed, wit sharpened, humor subtle; nuanced. Certain things were deemed proper. Others not. It had little to do with upward mobility, and the need to climb ever higher on the escalator to top corporate positions. To be a gentleman was an end in itself.

When you addressed such a man on an envelope for correspondence, you would write out his full name, insert a comma and then add the appellation – Esquire.

That this label would be claimed by the legal profession seems something of an anomaly, at least by today’s standard. One would hardly describe attorneys in our media age as gentlemanly (a dubious, politically incorrect concept for many in this post-sexist age). Or mannerly. But when we see the title employed, we do associate the term “Esquire” with attorneys.

And in the classical sense, it fits. (Thankfully, there are still some around worthy of the name.) The root word is “squire,” and reflects back on medieval times when a knight traveled with his young companion, a shield-bearer. An apprentice in training, many squires themselves aspired to Knighthood. The squire would not do battle for the knight, but carried his weapons and his armor. When the knight prepared for the fight, it was the squire who presented him with the equipment of his defense – and offense for that matter.

Robert A. Greer, Esquire, was all these things. An attorney. A counselor. A confidant. A shield-bearer. A gentleman.

In his fifty-three years, he distinguished himself as a rare model of integrity. And as his career grew and flourished, he took his place at the round table. He was to his best clients and closest friends what Lancelot was to King Arthur in the glory days of Camelot.

This week, my friend Bob, as his secretary said in an e-mail to friends and clients, lost his battle with cancer early Tuesday morning.

The news came like a stomach punch.

I’m still sorting it out.

* * * * * * *

I didn’t know how respond when after lunch a just few weeks ago, on our way back to the car, ready to separate and head home, Bob pulled me aside. “You know, Ken,” his tone turned serious, “the stats are not on my side.” He explained that only a small percentage of patients survive beyond a year after the diagnosis of a cancer this pervasive. Only a fraction make it five years.

I was silent. One of those rare moments - I just didn’t know what to say.

Long ago, I abandoned the band-aid style, cheery “everything’s gunna be OK” type response in the face of such dreadful prognoses.

“God’s gunna teach you something powerful.”

“There’s gotta be a purpose in this somewhere – we just have to wait to find out what.”

“Surely there’s a reason God is doing this.”

“All things work together for good.”

These… and other such untimely bromides do little more than make you belch. They are well intentioned... but don’t really help me. Why would I think they would help anyone else?

Certainly not Bob. Not now.

Nothing came to mind worth saying, other than to grab him and hold on for a minute – two aging Boomer guys in a parking lot thinkin’ the unthinkable - this could be the last time we’d see each other.

And it just about was.

His two children recently grew up. He and his wife Sue got them both through two distinguished college careers. Both married. The business was expanding. His clients growing, prospering. Bob and Sue weathered her cancer. His role as a leader in his church and in various ministry organizations emerging.

This illness is a tragedy on the magnitude of biblical proportion. What would I have said to Job? Could I have conjured up some better lines than those recorded for all time in the Bible book that bears his name? I doubt it.

When more than twenty years ago we met early morning over coffee and open Bibles with a half-dozen other guys, we were brash young bucks so much like other brash young bucks, eager to speak, eager to prove our metal, filled with the exhilaration of high potential, eager to strut our stuff, and yet deeply aware of our need. So we would pray for each other. We would dig through the ancient texts on the hunt for wisdom. We would share our challenges – personal, business, family. There was a healthy kind of accountability in those regular encounters. Off we’d go from there into the workday.

Had we known then how little time Bob would have, how differently we might have prayed. How differently it may have affected our agenda. How it would have tempered and colored our dialog.

The clock was ticking – we paid no attention – assuming we’d all get our obligatory four-score and ten. Maybe five-score.

Bob is, perhaps, one of the most articulate men I’ve ever known. He was a voracious reader. He didn’t read books, he consumed them. He bored easily over flimsy how-to stuff, written by people who think in slogans. No. Give him narrative. Give him something with a little philosophical grist. Salt and pepper it with political tension, and economic theory. Take him into the board-rooms at the highest level of decision-making and let him in on the debates that forged the watershed choices that made history. Challenge him with expanded vocabulary and the apt metaphor, throw in an obscure reference to some forgotten legend, and he’d get lost in the ideas.

That’s what Bob read.

But as the cancer closed in, and the doctors turned grim, Bob studied harder.

He called one day after a weekend of treatments that nearly killed him, and we talked. He told me, “Ken, I’m not afraid.” I’ll never forget the confidence in his weakened voice. And then, “I thought I was going to die. I went thirsty to the well and Ken - listen to me: the well isn’t dry. It’s full of fresh, sweet water. As promised. I found what I need.”

We wept together.

He opened the books.

He read. He called in the people closest to him. They spoke. His son. His daughter. His beloved Susan.

He got alone with his son-in-law. He had two messages for him. First, he said it straight – “I’m counting on you to take care of my daughter.” He reminded him of her beauty and spirit, and challenged him to love her for a lifetime through all of life’s passages. There's a full reward in that. And then second he said, “You are like a son to me. I want you to understand how proud I am of you. How much I believe in you. How thankful I am that God brought you into Julie’s life… into my life.”

Bob was on a mission to bestow his rich blessing on the people he cared for.

He said it so well. Combine his knowledge of the Scriptures with his mastery of the books with his monumental grasp of language with his passion for God and his awareness of the urgency of the hour and what emerged in those final weeks was extraordinary wisdom – he became a sage. If you were within earshot, you’d want to have your notebook and pen handy.

Someone hatched the idea of videotape.

* * * * * * *

The church that once floundered in a sea of endless, hollow controversy is now flourishing. Pastor Todd and the staff and lay leadership are marching in synch to a different drummer, and for now, it appears, the whole congregation is marching along, with enthusiasm.

This Easter Sunday, in three packed services, an eight minute video tape flickered on the large multi-media screens. Bob appeared battle weary, hair gone, puffy, but as clear and coherent as ever. Thankfully, the producer was skilled in the technical arts. The piece was beautifully photographed and then edited, with long fades and music filled with pathos and still scenes of photographs and memories and books and bifocals and lace and polished table-tops and a flickering fireplace. Home. And from there, Bob spoke of an extraordinary journey – how all his life, control was paramount until he was overwhelmed by something he could not control.

And in the transition, he came, in his vulnerability, to understand the faith he had so often spoken about, but understood only superficially.

He talked about his family. His friends. His church. But mainly, he spoke about his God, and the primary place he deserves. How good to know his presence. How sweet the green pastures and the still waters. How peaceful the soul restored. No fear in the valley of the shadow. The banquet table set. A cup that overflows. The goodness and mercy that follows – all the days. All the days.

On that Easter Sunday morning, hundreds, no thousands were deeply moved in their celebration of resurrection.

Husbands looked down the row at their wives, and thought new thoughts. Grateful thoughts. And then the same guys thought about their children, and felt something deep inside quicken all over again. People looked at their friends here and there, and considered them in a new light. A pastor looked out on his congregation with a new set of eyes and a new longing in his heart.

And now, Sunday this week, just fourteen days later, the church will be packed, standing room only, to bid farewell, to remember, to give thanks.

For Robert Greer, Esquire.

* * * * * * *

It’s Monday morning, you are a leader.

We humans tend to immortalize our fellow mortals who leave too soon. I’ll plead guilty. Let’s be frank. Bob fell somewhere short of perfection – in the twenty plus years we’ve been friends, we’ve had an occasional difference. Bob would be the first to confess his shortcomings. But, you know what? I don’t remember any of that now.

What I remember is a man who was true to his family[2], his calling, his integrity and his Lord. And in the short time he had to come to terms with a devastating illness, he found the strength and courage, faith and hope to go through that final passage that one day will come to us all. But, the greatest of these virtues he demonstrated is love – which he embraced to full measure.

Who would have known that his story would impact so many?

I believe in rewards. Bob will get what we all covet most – “Well done good and faithful servant.” Come to think of it, he’s already heard those words.

You’ve walked with me now in my quest to sort through a deep loss. Thank you for coming along. And on our journey, Bob’s story has touched you, too.

Let’s remember – what Bob found in those final days and hours, so powerful, so real, so rich – well, all of that is available to you and me today.

Even on this Monday morning.

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[2] I wrote about Bob a few months ago when we learned of his serious diagnosis.